


For More, Say 'Please'

by SweetSorcery



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Male Slash, Omorashi, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Protectiveness, Public Hand Jobs, Slash, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 10:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: Credence never expected the right to ask for what he wanted.(Day 2 Prompts used: Begging | Watersports)





	For More, Say 'Please'

**Author's Note:**

> First story in this fandom and, thanks to discovering **Kinktober 2018** on Tumblr, right in the deep end, though in a very non-explicit way. :)  
>  Note that unless stated otherwise, when I put Graves in a story, there's no Grindelwald in there. Consider it pre-takeover or AU, I guess.

Credence had been out in the cold for hours, handing out leaflets, trying to make people see the evils of witchcraft. And he was worried, because he still had so many more of mother's hateful papers to force on people. He knew the punishment, if he could not get rid of them all. He had dropped leftovers in a trash can once, and mother had somehow known; his hands had bled for hours.

Still, he was tempted to do it again. He was tired of standing on street corners and walking up to hostile strangers and, most of all, of being called a freak by those who would not take his leaflets. And he was freezing, and he desperately needed to relieve himself, but if he took the time to do so, it would mean he would get home even later and would be beaten worse.

He gazed hopelessly down the street ahead of him, and the crowd of people rushing to and fro, until a flash of a sweeping dark coat and silver-edged black hair caught his eye. His heart began to pound, and he followed the owner of the familiar features down the narrow alleyway into which he had vanished.

"There you are, Credence," Mr Graves said, in his slow, calming tone.

"You were looking for me?" Credence asked in surprise. 

He had met this dark, mysterious man a few times like this. It always seemed to happen by accident, and they just talked. Mr Graves was an enigma to him, but he listened. He listened to anything and everything Credence told him, never interrupting, never chiding. He seemed curious about him, and interested in everything. Yet it had never occurred to Credence that their accidental meetings might not be accidental at all.

"I hoped I'd see you today." Mr Graves wrapped an arm around Credence's shoulder and squeezed it for a moment.

Feeling instantly warmer, Credence ducked his head to hide his blush. He saw the well cared for hands reach for his stack of leaflets and did not fight when they were taken from him.

"Let's get rid of these, shall we?" Mr Graves said.

Credence's eyes widened. "No, my mother--"

It was too late. The papers had dispersed into fine dust, which was floating to the ground gently. A light wind blew it along the alley, along with all the other dirt.

"I won't tell her, if you don't." Mr Graves smiled.

Credence stared at him. Mr Graves rarely smiled. When he did, he looked as if he knew a secret, and Credence wanted to know what it was, but he had no right to ask. He imagined it had something to do with magic. "I won't tell," he said softly.

"Good boy."

A light stroke over his hair made Credence shiver. "I like it when you call me that."

That earned him a second smile, and Credence could hardly believe his luck.

"Do you?" Mr Graves had gently steered him behind a set of stairs leading up to the front door of a brownstone. "You know, Credence, when you like something, and you want more of it, saying _please_ works wonders."

Credence stared into the dark eyes. Was he allowed to ask for things? He had never done that, but it sounded as if Mr Graves meant it. He decided to be brave and put this to the test. "Mr Graves, may I... touch your face?" He hurried to add, "Please."

"Yes, Credence."

Credence raised a trembling hand and touched it, very lightly, to Mr Graves' cheek. He touched his own with his other hand and frowned. "Why is your skin much warmer than mine?"

"Are you cold?" Mr Graves asked, looking concerned. He touched the back of Credence's hand, then raised his knuckles to his cheek, even while Credence's fingers were still touching his. "You certainly are." 

He whispered words Credence did not understand, and it felt as if a bubble of warmth had suddenly closed around him. "Oh."

"Is that better?"

Credence nodded. "Thank you." It was very much better, but the sudden temperature difference also made him more aware than ever how desperately he needed to get to a bathroom. "I need to go," he said urgently, reluctantly withdrawing his fingertips from Mr Graves' cheek.

"Why?" Mr Graves asked. "You have no more propaganda to hand out for today."

Credence blushed. "I... don't want to say." He shifted uncomfortably. "It would be bad manners."

"It can't be that bad." Mr Graves looked him up and down, saw the way he shifted from foot to foot, his right hand repeatedly straying towards the front of his trousers but never quite making contact. "You need to relieve yourself, is that it?" he asked, as if it was fine to talk about such things.

Credence bit his lip. Having it put into words seemed to have made things worse. He nodded jerkily.

"Go ahead then."

Credence met the brown eyes, and his own widened. "But... I can't. Not here. People might see."

"They won't, I promise." Mr Graves covered the hovering right hand with his left and pressed it against Credence's crotch.

Credence gasped, his eyes closing as if he was in pain. He felt his own hand being moulded around him gently through his trousers, Mr Graves' fingers sliding in between his. 

"I'll shield you from view," Mr Graves said, and his breath was hot against Credence's ear. He was backing him against the wall, his right hand against it above Credence's shoulder, his wide coat fanning out like a raven's wing over a sparrow. "You don't even need to unbutton your trousers."

"But--"

"I'll help you clean up afterwards, you just need to use the right word." A pause. "You know the word I mean, don't you?"

The voice was deep and husky when it spoke directly into his ear, and Credence moaned softly, in both discomfort and pleasure. "Please, Mr Graves, help me. I'm so embarrassed."

A pleased hum, and Mr Graves' hand lightly pushed Credence's hand aside and cupped him. And squeezed, repeatedly. 

In a moment, the urge to let go became so strong, Credence couldn't help it anymore. He shivered when the warm trickle began, quickly soaking through linen and wool and, oh God, Mr Graves had to be feeling the wetness against his palm already. Credence felt so ashamed, and so very good. The warm stream soaked his trousers in a line down the front, ran along the inside of his left thigh, around to the back of his knee, and was absorbed into his socks. There was no sound, nothing splashed onto the pavement. Only Credence himself would be messy by the end.

And so would Mr Graves, whose hand remained exactly where it was, but who pushed his right thigh up between Credence's legs, pressing the wet clothes against him but, inevitably, getting Mr Graves' handsome suit wet as well.

The pressure, added to the relief, and the hot breath in his ear, and the spicy, musky scent of aftershave mingling with only a faint scent of urine - Credence was never allowed to drink anything but water, soon reduced the stream back to a trickle because, to Credence's mortification, he was getting hard. Mr Graves would feel that as well, he could not fail to. 

"Please," Credence whispered, trying to arch back from the contact, much as he wanted to press into the strong hand instead.

"Now, Credence, one request at a time. I haven't even cleaned you up yet." Mr Graves sounded more amused than angry.

"Sorry." Credence dropped his head back against the wall, arching his long neck. "I can't help it, I'm so sorry."

"Hush." Mr Graves moved back slowly, the removal of his leg between Credence's thighs leaving the boy more aware than ever of his wet, quickly cooling trousers, stuck to his legs. He looked down at the stained clothes - Credence's and his own - and with a murmur and a few hand movements, it was all gone, and they were both clean and dry, as if nothing had ever happened. "There, you look like a good boy again."

Credence, who had gasped at the sensation of being magically cleaned and dried, stared into his eyes. "But I'm not, am I?"

He received his third smile then, and Mr Graves glanced down and traced the hard outline in Credence's trousers with the knuckles of his hand, causing a whimper. "Your mother wouldn't think you good." When Credence looked distressed at that, he added gently, "But I do, and you are _my_ good boy, Credence, aren't you?"

Credence bit his lip. He looked flushed, excited, astonished.

"That's what you want, isn't it? To be my good boy?" Mr Graves stopped the slow up and down motion of his knuckles, and raised his hand to hold Credence's chin instead. He looked deep into his eyes. "My very own, beautiful, sweet, good boy?"

Credence almost sobbed. No one had ever said such things about him. To him. "Oh yes, please, Mr Graves."

He felt his trousers being unbuttoned, and Mr Graves slid his hand inside and wrapped his fingers around him. "You plead so sweetly, Credence."

Credence sank into the deep, dark eyes. He wanted to look down and watch, but the grip on his chin prevented him.

"Are you going to moan sweetly for me when you come, too?" Mr Graves murmured. His palm was so warm, his strokes so firm, his surprising little flicks of a smooth nail edge against the head made Credence gasp.

"Yes, Mr Graves." Credence licked his lips. "Anything you want."

"I might want a lot from you," Mr Graves warned. His gaze swept the face tilted towards him. "Next time we meet, I imagine I'll want to taste your luscious mouth."

Credence shivered. His pupils were dilated, and his breathing so fast, it made him dizzy. He felt himself throbbing in Mr Graves' hand. The idea of being kissed by this man was overwhelming.

"I see you like that idea."

"Yes." It was more exhalation than word.

"So do I." Mr Graves's voice was raspy, and he swallowed visibly. "But... not too many pleasures at once."

Credence wanted to whine, but then the strokes on him sped up, smooth with his fluids now, and his knees buckled.

Mr Graves leaned in, and pressed a tender kiss to the centre of Credence's forehead. When he spoke, his breath made Credence's lashes flutter. "Come for me, Credence, come now."

And Credence obeyed, moaning, and shaking all over, while he spilled himself into Mr Graves' hand.

"Such a good boy." Another light kiss, this one on the tip of his nose. 

When Mr Graves had spelled him clean again and stepped back, he said, "Whenever you get aroused, Credence, I want you think of me while you take care of yourself for me."

Credence opened his mouth to ask if Mr Graves would take care of him again next time too, but the man had already turned away and disapparated.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://sweetsorcery.tumblr.com/), and we can squee about this and maybe other pairings/fandoms we love. And drop me a message there. I'd love to follow you back. :)
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> Copyright of this fandom, some settings and its characters - J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and possibly other right holders. This story is written purely for the entertainment of fans, and no profit is made.


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